And he’s here.
He’s here.
The sunshine obliterating my shadows.
“Whit,” Caleb inhales softly, his voice the gentlest of balms on my bruised heart.
I glance up at him from where I’m cradling myself on the couch, and even though I want to move, I’m afraid that he’ll disappear if I do.
So, I just let him approach, his eyes moving around the apartment, taking in the wreck that’s my life now.
And I’m ashamed. For so many reasons.
“Whit,” he says, his voice cracking.
He kneels in front of me, his hands on his thighs, and I meet his eyes. He looks tired, with purple rings under his blue eyes, but he looks so good. So damn good.
I lick my cracked lips and exhale shakily.
“Sem said you wouldn’t let him see,” he says, his fists clutched on his thighs. “Can I?”
I blink up at him, and when I don’t respond, he reaches over and pulls my shirt sleeves up. His breath comes out on a shaky exhale at finding nothing there.
He has no idea how hard that was. I did it for him.
I did it for you.
“I need to check your legs now,” he says, and then he gently tugs my pants down, exposing my thighs. He’s careful not to touch my skin, and I notice. Notice how disgusted he must be with me. I’m rotting from the inside out. A shell of who I once was.
His eyes sweep over my scars, but when he discovers nothing new, he pulls my pants back up, rubbing a hand over his face in relief.
“Good. That’s good.”
I watch him, drinking him up. God. I need him.
How can I live without him?
He looks around the apartment and then stands, moving to pick up the trash littering the counters, and I watch him do it. Watch as he runs the dishwasher, wipes down the counters, and then runs a load of laundry.
I’m gasping for breath now, still lying on the couch, tears streaming down my face. How is there anything left inside of me? I’m empty. Hollow.
Caleb stops in front of me and crouches down next to me, his fists clutched tightly as if he’s preventing himself from reaching out and touching me.
Don’t blame him. I wouldn’t touch me either.
“Let’s clean you up.”
He helps me sit up, and I lean into his touch, though it’s fleeting and cold.
Then he tugs me into him, walking me to the shower. I sag against the wall as he turns on the water and tests it.
How can this man even care about me after everything I’ve done?
I don’t deserve him. I never did.
He hands me a toothbrush, and I weakly scrub at my teeth before swallowing the paste, not even bothering to spit it out.
He watches me and then steps toward me, helping me undress, firstmy shirt and then my pants. When I’m completely nude, I’m shaking so badly that my teeth clatter noisily in the quiet room.
